<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Snowflake by Blinxer</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22811839">Snowflake</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blinxer/pseuds/Blinxer'>Blinxer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:13:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,377</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22811839</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blinxer/pseuds/Blinxer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandon's start in a new college is a real...blast.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Snowflake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That <em>fucking</em> snowflake.</p><p>Brandon angrily clicked through his classmate’s Instagram photos, noting that the city girl came off as an even greater hipster in her profile than she did in real life. Where did she get off calling him sexist? Just because he was from a southern state with a Texan accent (and damn proud of it), didn’t automatically make him misogynistic. Or at least, he didn’t think it did.</p><p>Brandon was well acquainted with sexism. He grew up in a small town where good-ole’-boys smoked hazy cigars on front porches, and one could go days without seeing nary a person of color. His parents almost tanned his hide when they heard he wanted to go to college on the west coast: San Francisco, no less. Yet, Brandon had always been bookish and curious about the world, and he knew that none of the local colleges could satisfy his thirst for a real college education. Also, Brandon had an odd sense that he needed to leave his hometown – weird things had begun happening around him: men and women staring at him everywhere, glasses and pans falling from shelves as he passed apparently on their own accord. Brandon didn’t know why these things were happening but getting out of dodge seemed like a good plan, for a whole host of reasons – his mind flashed to a neighbor spitting off the side of his porch when the news about Obama’s election came in. With this thought came the memory of how he had just used the word “snowflake” in reference to his classmate, and Brandon flinched.</p><p>Still, that girl was infuriating. Just look at the way she presented herself in her profile: a lithe body dressed in devil-may-care attire, a button nose, and fierce eyes a curious shade of grey and green. Weirdly, Brandon found himself growing aroused as he browsed her pictures, despite how pissed off he was. She had called out his comment in psychology class, claiming his defense of Freud was “quintessentially sexist”. She was smart, he’d give her that. In fact, she had convinced Brandon he was wrong and in doing so had also shamed him in front of everyone. Which sucked. He wondered what it would take to impress a girl like her. Brandon was fit, but not overly so. He doubted she would be impressed by that sort of thing, in any case. He imagined her approaching him after class and, instead of insulting him, complimenting him about his argument…and maybe even his looks. Brandon felt his pants tenting at the thought – he sighed resignedly and leaned back, unsnapping his jeans and letting his hands wander as he thought of his frustrating, captivating classmate.</p><p>The next day’s class was surprisingly different. Brandon decided he wasn’t going to say much and avoid attention, but the girl kept referring to him in her comments and prompting his participation. He avoided eye contact with her, but also couldn’t help but appreciate what feels like an attempt to include him. He’s packing up after the session, the class seemingly empty, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He looks up and suppresses a shiver of surprised pleasure. There she stands in yoga pants and a cut-off tee, hands on her hips, appraising him. “I know who you are, you know.” Brandon blinks. He certainly wasn’t expecting that. “Sorry. But, uh, have we met at some point?” The girl throws back her head and lets out a peal of warm laughter. It’s a wonderful sound and oddly Brandon feels a smile tickling the corner of his mouth – but he pushes back the sensation, quickly. What the hell was going on? “What the hell is going on?” he asked, bringing the question to life. She stopped laughing to look at him, with a strange expression glittering in her eyes. “Brandon, we are Paired. I’ve known you for a long time. And you’ve known me for just as long. Broken any pots lately?” He stares at her and she grins. “That was us dude, our mutual powers calling to each other. True magnetism at work.”</p><p>The girl stops speaking and stares down at Brandon, mischief entering her eyes. She abruptly moves forward and sits in his lap, sliding slowly forward until her hips are flush with his groin, still facing him. She gently places her arms around his broad shoulders and says softly “There’s more to this. Watch.” Brandon stutters something incomprehensible. She laughs, kissing him on the ear, then on the neck while beginning to rock slightly in his lap, almost imperceptibly. Brandon begins to grow hard and he knows she can feel it; in fact, the harder he gets, the more pointedly she seems to slide her warm crotch against him. Brandon lets his head fall back and moans as the girl begins to hump his swelling groin in earnest, her breath coming faster as she does so. “Sorry”, she pants in his ear, “there’s a reason for why I’m doing this, but I also just wanted to feel it…unh…you’re as big as I’d hoped you’d be.”</p><p>At this point, both students are doing little to hide their activity. Brandon sits with his legs spread wide to give her as much access as she needs. His hands are on her hips, pulling her rhythmically and insistently onto his erection, which is fully hard and dripping a sticky, warm mess into his boxers. If she doesn’t stop, he’s going to squirt in his pants. She is similarly eager, straddling his lap with abandon as she humps against the stiffness between her legs. She has established a maddening rhythm: rotating her hips firmly at the base of his penis and then slowly sliding up his shaft, pressing her mons against the covered swell of his stiff dick. She doesn’t stop, moaning and softly asking him to take her while sliding up and down against him, again and again. She begins to wet his penis as she does this, his track pants darkening wetly under her hips as she lets herself enjoy the size and firmness of his member. He can feel her need – she moans and rocks almost frantically against him as she slides over the head of his penis, pressing it against her hole. He grabs her hips firmly and holds her there, grinding lewdly against that wet, sticky spot between her legs.</p><p>“Oh Brandon…unh…more, yes. Oh god, more. Oh…oh…daddy. Daddy, yes…unh…make me sit on it. You’re so big Brandon…unh…please…open me…” And with that, Brandon loses it. He grabs her roughly and pulls her into him, grunting loudly and spurting a heavy, warm and decadent load into his underwear, soaking through to cover her crotch still rocking desperately against his aching bulge. It feels so good, not least because she is grabbing his broad back and coming with him, whimpering as she attempts to spread her legs under him on the chair “Yes, Daddy, please fuck me…unhhhhhh…unh…you’re making it hot and sticky between my legs. Don’t stop please, please. I want to feel it daddy please…unh..unh… oh my god Brandon. You’re so fucking strong and thick…take me Daddy, I’m yours. I want this with you. I want it.”</p><p>Suddenly, Brandon hears a loud crack, like the sound of someone breaking a massive door down. He looks up to see the professor’s podium split in half, both sides skittering to either side of the room as if propelled by a massive force. Brandon stares at the split podium in a stupor: what…what in the hell is going on? The girl looks up as well and promptly pushes away from him, walking swiftly towards the door and not turning to look at him or the broken pieces of wood everywhere. Before exiting, she pauses, still facing away from Brandon. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. I lost control. We should talk…at some point” and with that she walks out.</p><p>Brandon is left alone in the classroom, with nothing but a broken podium and damp pants to remind him that what had just occurred had really happened. Only one thought was clear in his jumbled mind: <em>What in the fuck was that?</em></p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>